masonblake
11-10-2011, 04:54 PM
At five minutes to midnight, the city prepares for sleep.
After a tiresome day,
the dust settles back onto the train tracks.
A solitary rat devours the last remnants of life
with gusto.
The ethereal light which fed,
is enveloped by a sickening cloud,stealing breath from babes
who refuse the breast.
A ginger tom, stalks blind mice.
A smokey musical haze emits from a jazz club.
The Monk's slender fingers augment the sound.
Discarded food cartons find their way home.
An ostracised smoker leans thankfully on a concrete post,
begging to be understood.
The whore beside the rent boy, sighs through lack of business.
Her dealer caresses the blade pushed deep into his sleeve.
Drunk youths spill out of pubs, begging for a scrap.
Burberry cap and K-Swiss -a badge of honour-
singles them out from the crowd.
Taxi drivers, tap on dashboards, eager for a fare.
Their wives otherwise engaged, with a provocative lingerie party,
or perhaps an affair with a neighbour, who borrowed the lawnmower.
The bus driver negotiates the final corner.
Preparing for his last repetition.
Plastic chicken soup cups rain down at his feet.
Police clamber closer, like bowling pins, anticipating a strike.
With furrowed brows, and infected toes, they stand in line.
The stench of Sarsons lingers on their fingers.
Blended together with runny yolk, chilli sauce, and pita bread on the side.
Remnants of the all night cafe.
A distant scream, a vixen mating?
Her emaciated partner eager to return.
The allure of greasy, gravy coated metal proves irresistible.
Susceptible girls, in micro minis, hair brilliantly bleached,
clamour for attention.
Lipstick smeared by apple cider and back alley blowjobs.
Neon colours flicker and fade, as shutters roll.
The gypsy flaunts the crowd with plastic roses.
Her curses audible over the darkening clamour.
The date is about to change.
At five minutes to midnight.
After a tiresome day,
the dust settles back onto the train tracks.
A solitary rat devours the last remnants of life
with gusto.
The ethereal light which fed,
is enveloped by a sickening cloud,stealing breath from babes
who refuse the breast.
A ginger tom, stalks blind mice.
A smokey musical haze emits from a jazz club.
The Monk's slender fingers augment the sound.
Discarded food cartons find their way home.
An ostracised smoker leans thankfully on a concrete post,
begging to be understood.
The whore beside the rent boy, sighs through lack of business.
Her dealer caresses the blade pushed deep into his sleeve.
Drunk youths spill out of pubs, begging for a scrap.
Burberry cap and K-Swiss -a badge of honour-
singles them out from the crowd.
Taxi drivers, tap on dashboards, eager for a fare.
Their wives otherwise engaged, with a provocative lingerie party,
or perhaps an affair with a neighbour, who borrowed the lawnmower.
The bus driver negotiates the final corner.
Preparing for his last repetition.
Plastic chicken soup cups rain down at his feet.
Police clamber closer, like bowling pins, anticipating a strike.
With furrowed brows, and infected toes, they stand in line.
The stench of Sarsons lingers on their fingers.
Blended together with runny yolk, chilli sauce, and pita bread on the side.
Remnants of the all night cafe.
A distant scream, a vixen mating?
Her emaciated partner eager to return.
The allure of greasy, gravy coated metal proves irresistible.
Susceptible girls, in micro minis, hair brilliantly bleached,
clamour for attention.
Lipstick smeared by apple cider and back alley blowjobs.
Neon colours flicker and fade, as shutters roll.
The gypsy flaunts the crowd with plastic roses.
Her curses audible over the darkening clamour.
The date is about to change.
At five minutes to midnight.